


Cenewyn - se recedness

by Illyrian



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adventure in Middle Earth, F/M, War of the Ring, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2019-11-05 18:09:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17923784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illyrian/pseuds/Illyrian
Summary: "Much has been written about the end of the Third Age and the War of the Ring. Yet, there are so many people we know little about. And it is because of them, too, that hope could endure.This tale is about Cenewyn, a lady of Rohan, a historian and scholar. She left on an adventure, without doubt a most foolish one, to try and do her part." - Éomer KingThis is my own little attempt of making Middle Earth come to life. Maybe there will be one or two who will enjoy reading this.





	1. An ill-advised adventure

„You have been far too quiet lately. What weighs so heavy on your mind?“ Éomer asked his Second in Command, who has often been lost in thought lately. Éothain, obviously not really wishing to share his burden, for what reason was not clear, just sighed. Albeit, it did seem that he was thinking of answering the question, just moments before. The Third Marshall of the Riddermark knew his Second in Command well. They grew up together, were of the same age, and he considered him his brother.

„I wonder how far they got and where they are now. They surely must have crossed Tharbad more than 10 days ago. Long has it been that somebody has taken this road.“ It seems that Éomer had guessed rightly, what it was that worried his close friend so. For there was a great tension in his body now, like the string of a bow, pulled back entirely.

 „The son of Denethor is a formidable captain, a great warrior of Gondor. Cenewyn is not incapable of defending herself either. She has proven that countless times in the past. There is no need to worry my friend.“ Éomer added in a gentle tone, grasping the shoulder of his friend in a comforting fashion.

„That is true. Nevertheless, I can‘t help but worry. In the past, I never understood how people would come to miss their kin or friends after just a few days apart. Now I do understand and I wish I had tried to have more empathy for them then. This is the longest we have been apart, and there are no news. No news at all.“ Éothain, his gaze wandering over the Snowbourn, was explaining, barely whispering the last part, as if he was afraid to say it out aloud. Éomer, surprised that the departure of Cenewyn would affect him so, silently sat down, next to Éothain and watched the western horizon, heavily in thought. If he was to be entirely honest, his thoughts often traveled along the path the strange pair most likely had taken. He felt the unease too. A shadow was slowly creeping into these lands. Still, it was rather unlikely that their childhood friend would come to harm, as long as Boromir son of Denethor was riding along the same path as her. It was a strange thing indeed, when the captain of Gondor arrived, not yet twenty days ago. He told them about his dream, asking for a horse and anything they could tell him about Imladris- a place they thought to exist in fairy tales only.

_Seek for the Sword that was broken;_

_In Imladris it dwells._

_There shall be taken counsels_

_Stronger than Morgul-spells._

_There shall be shown a token_

_That Doom is near at hand._

_For Isildur's Bane shall waken,_

_And the Halfling forth shall stand._

A most curious dream. It was only once that Éomer heard the Gondorian recount it, yet those words had burned themselves into the Third Marshall‘s memory. Why this was the case, Éomer could only guess. Perhaps it is the rhyme, it flows very easily after all. Cenewyn happened to witness this recount as well. He could remember vividly how her eyes had lit up once the first rhyme ended. Even worse, there was a great fire in them as soon as Boromir had finished his tale. Many times in the past her eyes had lit up in the same way, and many times it was that they ended up doing something foolish, because she was successful in sharing her enthusiasm with them and inspiring some adventure - much to their parents dread. Ever the curious scholar and historian, she could not help but try to solve this riddle as well, for a riddle it was in Éomer‘s eyes. To her delight and everybody else’s disquiet, not even she could solve the riddle. Worst of all, she decided to accompany the Captain of Gondor, in order to learn more and return with knowledge from Imladris, if it could be found, and all the foreign lands they now knew little about and heard even less from. Entirely taking after her father, Háma the doorward of the king, she was far too strong-willed and stubborn to be convinced of the foolishness of such an endeavour. She would not accept anybody's counsel in that matter. In fact, she has been asking for years to travel around Rohan, which she was granted at times, in order to learn and record more history. Only in recent times, since his uncle started to show the signs of old age, did she dare to ask less often for leave. The days where the son of Thengel did not feel any weakness were becoming fewer. But that day, the day Boromir arrived in the Halls of Medusled, was such a day. Théoden King, who treated Cenewyn much like a daughter of his own and had often allowed her to follow her heart’s desires, was against her traveling into far off lands, as was Boromir son of Denethor. The Gondorian had quickly become friends with Rohan‘s youngest scholar, but he refused to take her along. Boromir had vehemently been against the company of his younger brother and his men, as the journey along the Old South Road would surely prove to be a dangerous one. It took a great effort to convince his father, who had spent nights trying to persuade his son in taking some guards with him, too. How could he allow a young maiden to do, what he forbade his kin and friends- who are much more used to ever-present danger and travel along roads less tread? Cenewyn had initially accepted the refusal, for the reasons present. Alas, it did not last long.

On the day the great warrior left, Cenewyn was missing. She had not come to supper, which she never missed. Her mother came searching for her, asking everybody who could have known where she was. Yet, nobody could tell. It was not entirely unusual for her to wander off, because something had tickled her fancy and roused her scholarly interest. But never did she stay away an entire day without giving note. And these were dangerous times. Orcs and other foul creatures were now walking rather confidently into Rohan. They searched throughout the night, into the early hours of dawn and much of the next day. She was nowhere to be found. Her parents and many Rohirrim, Éowyn especially so, were dreading the news of an untimely death. It would not have been unusual in these times. Orcs have been raiding the Mark for years, his father  had died in such a raid, often stealing their beloved horses. These raids have become much more numerous and delved ever deeper into the lands of the Rohirrim in recent times. Still, nobody could explain how and when she disappeared. It was as if she was spirited away, by some foul magic spell. When the Éored were forced to take a break, to let their horses rest, Éothain refused and simply took an other horse to continue the search.

Then, in the late afternoon of the third day since her disappearence, Lady Cyneberg, Cenewyn‘s mother and the doorward‘s wife, came rushing towards them in the halls of Meduseld, her expression full of worry and dread. „She is gone, ridden up to the Fords, in hope to follow the Gondorian once he reaches the Isen. Woe is me, for I have not realised how hot the thought of adventure and promise of more knowledge burned in the mind of my foolish daughter. If I had but realised it sooner, she would still be here and safe. She has left us the night before Boromir‘s departure, leaving nought but this message behind.” She waved a small piece of parchment in front of them, which she had found on a nightstand in her bedroom. „Do not worry“ she writes, „All will be well and I will return soon.“ How is a mother to accept this?“ The wails of Cyneberg were heard even far outside of Meduseld. Gríma, the advisor to the king, then said: „Foolish is this young maiden indeed, and far too selfish as well. She would leave all of Rohan behind, just to still her thirst for knowledge and, I am sure, glory in lands much less of renown than her home. What woman dared to venture out this far, in the entire history of Rohan? None I presume.“ Éowyn must have been quite shaken by these words, for she became paler with each passing moment. Her brother was watching her in worry. The young maidens had been close friends from the moment both could walk. To loose Cenewyn would surely be a devastating blow to Éowyn, who had but few close friends. Háma, in contrast, was growing angrier with each word. Gríma was overstepping a boundary too many. He was about to reprimand him, to not speak of his daughter in such a fashion, when his king, who had been feeling better that day, intervened. „That may or may not be so. Yet, we cannot simply sit by and wait for the news of her return. We should send scouts to the Fords and message to Théodred. There may still be hope to find her before she ventures too far.“ Théoden, rather shaken by the actions of Cenewyn, proposed. „My king, that is very wise indeed. I would advise to sent message to Saruman the White as well. Few are there who know the lands west of the Isen as well as he.“ Gríma urged. Éomer could not but dislike this man. Even in such a situation he seemed to find delight. There was no sign of worry in the face of Gríma Wormtongue. Nor was there empathy for a mother and father clearly in dismay. Cenewyn was their youngest child and only daughter, the apple of their eye and most beloved treasure of her two older brothers, Cenegar and Ceneric, who had yet to be informed of their sister’s ill-advised adventure.

Most of the people present agreed with Gríma Wormtongue, for there was little else they could do. Cenewyn was a formidable rider, few showed such skill with the Maeras as she. Two nights and much of the day has passed, since she left the Halls of Meduseld. There was actually little hope for Théodred, who was patrolling the edges of the Westfold more often in recent times, to catch Cenewyn. It was very likely that she already passed the Fords. Even though Éomer admired her courage in silence, it was a foolish act indeed.

 

The next day scouts were sent to the Fords, with message to Théodred. The messenger for Isengard left as well.

Éothain returned but an hour later. The news angered him greatly and for the next few hours he was sparring with anybody who dared to accept the challenge. Once nobody came forward to fight him, he stamped off, still full of anger. Never has Éomer seen his Second in Command so furious, yet so desperate. Still, he could understand Éothain‘s mood far too well. Although Éomer was less passionate, he too wished he could rid himself of this frustration that had been gnawing on him for the last two days. He wished Cenewyn had never left. Yet, he knew her well. She was much more daring than any other maiden in Rohan, always boldly declaring her will, but not hurting anybody’s pride or honour in that process. She was singular in this aspect. He just hoped that everything would be like in her letter, that all would be well in the end.


	2. Two riders

Théodred, instead of sending a messenger, arrived after midnight in Edoras himself. He was beside himself with worry, but also with anger. His scouts had seen Boromir, son of Denethor, reach the Fords of Isen, alone. Yet, after he had received the message, he himself led the scouts from Edoras across the Isen and found the trail of two riders. The second rider seemed to have waited further West and joined the first, Boromir, less than one mile westwards of the Fords. How Cenewyn had managed to bypass his Éored he did not know. It must have been during the night, when there are less patrols along the shore of the Isen. Cyneberg showed him her daughter’s letter, confirming his suspicions.

Ceneric, who had arrived from the Stonedeans in the afternoon, asked “But can we be sure that this second rider is our sister? Apart from the time, there is nothing that points to it really being her. What if she had been caught unawares by some Orcs in the East? You all know that she loves to ride out there, in the morning when the sun rises.” Ceneric’s words could not be easily dismissed.

“That she does. Yet, it still doesn’t explain the letter your mother found.” Éothain, who had been silent so far, remarked.

“Hah, that letter could be a forgery. It wouldn’t surprise me if Gríma placed it there.” Ceneric replied, more to himself than the people present.

“I would be very careful to accuse the counsellor of the King of such a crime, Ceneric, son of Háma.” The prince of Rohan warned the young Rohirrim. It was one thing to believe the letter to be a forgery and an other to attribute it to Gríma Wormtongue. Ceneric paled visibly, he obviously had not thought that the prince of Rohan would hear him.

“As much as I would like to see that foul-speaking creature leave the lands of Rohan entirely, Théodred speaks right. We have to assume that it was Cenewyn who wrote that letter and put it onto the nightstand of her mother, before she left the Halls of Meduseld.” Éomerremarked.

Cyneberg, who had been barely paying attention to the discussion so far, being entirely consumed by worry, spoke up and asked “But why would she leave now? When the King grows weaker by day, leaving Éowyn alone with the task of caring for Théoden. I do not understand my own daughter anymore. How could she be so reckless? So selfish?”

A heavy silence seemed to engulf the five of them, nobody knew the answer or what to say. The silence stretched on painfully. Mere moments must have passed, but they felt like eternity.

“It is precisely because she wants to help that she left. That place, Imladris, is famed for being a place of scholars of old, healers renown. She must have become so desperate, seeing our king lose his strength day by day, that she foolishly decided to believe in the existence of a place from fairy tales.”, the captain of Éomer’s Éored, who was not only well-versed in the legends and myths of old but understood Cenewyn’s mind like no other, explained, not daring to speak above a whisper.

The King’s health was a very sensible matter, of great importance. The less it was talked about, the less the enemy would know. For there were spies among the brave people of Rohan, looking for any weakness that could be exploited.

Théodred then rose from his seat. “I will command my Éored to watch the Fords more closely in the coming days, for any signs of Cenewyn. But I fear that Éothain is right. Cenewyn would rather perish than sit by and watch the king, or any of us for the matter, die a slow and painful death. It is the most foolish and yet the most brave and honorable thing she has done. But let me ask you, all of you, what have we so far done to protect Rohan? To protect our home? Our king? It shames me to admit that my efforts have been not as praiseworthy as hers.”

With these words, the prince of Rohan took leave and gave the rest of them much to think. 

The sky was clear when the sun rose the next morning. The weather was far too cheerful, it did not fit. Éowyn did not know how to describe her feelings. She was worried, yes. But she was angry, so angry that she did not know what to do with it. It was like hot iron in her hands, burning and scarring her. Yet, she could not let go. Why had she not said anything? To her, one of her closest friends. No, more than just friends. Cenewyn was like a sister to her, and up until a few days ago she had believed the daughter of Háma to think so of her as well. She left her alone, alone to deal with the foul words of the counsellor, and his unwanted attentions. That worm was not able to mask his happiness, once he heard of Cenewyn's disappearance, and Éowyn knew why. Often had Cenewyn thwarted Wormtongue's attempts of gaining her favour, in the most simplest fashion too. Once, she had "accidentally" spilled wine on Éowyn's gown, to take her away from the forced conversation. An other time she had boldly challenged the snake to a race, for only a rider of skill should be allowed to judge the actions of Rohirrim. The king was very ill that day, and did not force Gríma to comply, she doubts that he had heard much of Wormtongue's counsel at all.

_"A counsellor does not need to ride in order to know, for it is a matter easily deduced. All he does need to do is give good counsel. Or do you wish to say that my counsel is not welcome, Cenewyn?"_

Éowyn remembered those words clearly, for it was the first time that Cenewyn had not answered Gríma's taunts. Admittedly, it would have been a foolish thing to do, maybe even more foolish than leaving Rohan to search for a myth. Still, it did not change the severity of the situation. Éowyn had confided in her, told her of feeling caged. Cenewyn had agreed then, told her she felt similar, and tried to lighten the mood. Now, all the memory does is leave a foul taste in her mouth. For Cenewyn is free, pursuing a path that leads into foreign lands, while Éowyn can only stand here on the steps of Meduseld and wait. She had thrown away the trust Éowyn had put in her the moment she decided to leave. She would not forgive her.

A messenger appeared, waiting to be let through the gates by the guards of Edoras. It seems that Saruman had sent message. Cenewyn's kin, Théodred, Éomer and many others waited in the Halls of Medusled for the messenger to speak his news. There was a tension in the air. Sleep must have eluded the kin of Cenewyn for days, for all of them looked very pale and tired.

"The messenger of Saruman may step forward." Gríma announced, once the messenger has been divested off his weapons.

_"Greetings to Théoden, son of Thengel, King of Rohan. My men have inquired about a woman, brown of hair, tall and swift on horse. None have seen her pass the Gap of Rohan. A man, tall of height, black of hair with a stern glance, on a brown steed, was seen riding into Dunlending lands. There was a second rider, a man of Rohan, on a grey steed, following the same path in distance, three days ago. If there be any other matters that require my help, I will gladly give it. Saruman the White."_

Théoden King asked the messenger to relay his thanks and dismissed him. The news had not been able to solve the mystery of the young scholar's disappearance.

"A man of Rohan...this does not tell us much. This could be anybody. Even though it's unusual to cross the Fords of the Isen, it would not be entirely unthinkable. If the second rider was a man, where was Cenewyn then?" Ceneric said to everybody assembled.

"You forget that the second rider had hidden himself on the Fords and only followed the Captain of Gondor once he had passed the Isen altogether. Why would a honourable man of Rohan hide? It does not make much sense to me, unless it's Cenewyn who tried to make sure that Boromir would not force her to return to Edoras." The prince of Rohan countered.Indeed, it was strange news for the second rider to be a man

"A honorable **man** surely would not..." The counsellor threw in, provoking the ire of many, that of the doorward and of the captain of Éomer's Éored the most. "That would mean Cenewyn was wearing men's garb. So deep runs her greed that she would throw away her feminine ways. She may look like a man now, but a strike with spear or sword will reveal that she is all but. And alas, then it may be too late..." Wormtongue continued, sounding far too pleased.

"Too late for what, counsellor?" Háma, barely masking his anger, nor the threatening tone, at the words of Gríma.

"I believe you know all too well that she, tall and strong for a woman she may be, will not be able to best a man in fight, doorward. This ill-advised adventure is doomed to end in tragedy. For that you have my sympathy." he said, rather theatrically. 

Háma was shaking from an anger so strong, that Théodred feared he would unsheathe his sword and answer the Wormtongue's words with a swift strike.

"Counsellor, I forbid you to smear the honour of Háma's daughter. Many in these halls know her far better and longer than you. She would not leave on a fool's errand without good reason. If it is her that followed Boromir, Denethor's son, into Dunlending lands, then all that is left for us to do is hope for her return. Until then, no more foul word shall be spoken about her." the prince of Rohan sternly said, gazing warningly at the counsellor of his father.

"And so it shall be." Théoden King, until but a moment lost in thought, finally said. With these words, the matter was closed and the people assembled dispersed. 

 

 


	3. The day of the departure

Cenewyn was pacing up and down in her room, in the east wing of Medusled. They had been living in these halls since her father had become the doorward of the king. She remembers the first day like it was yesterday. It had been a warm spring, after a long and very cold winter, when they moved from Brockbridge, a settlement in the Stonedeans where her grandfather was Thane, to Edoras. She had been four or five years old and had never traveled further than Woodhurst or Grapholt, which were the other two major settlements in the Stonedeans and all about a day‘s ride away. She had only heard stories about the other places in Rohan. About Edoras, or about the king. She had known that the Harrowdale, the valley in which the Golden Hall was situated, would look rather different from the Stonedeans with its many little forests andsharp stony hills.

The rolling hills and the wide and lush green plains of the Harrowdale were quite a sight to behold. Edoras, on a hill in the shadow of Starkhorn, could be seen from miles away. And when they finally reached the Barrowfield, she did not dare to breathe, so much in awe had she been. All the kings of old lay buried left and right, the white petals of Simbelmynë gracing their ancient burial grounds. Never had the history of her people felt so real to her, never so close. If she were to choose, then it would have to be that day. The day when she decided to safeguard and preserve their stories of old, all that which defined who all of them are.

Admittedly, she had been afraid of meeting the king, standing face to face. But Théoden son of Thengel, wasn’t as stern as her stories made him out to be, at least not towards children. She grew to love him and princeThéodred like family, in a matter of days.

A few years has it been now, since the king‘s health had started to fail. In the beginning, he was just not feeling well and most of the people in the Golden Halls had not worried much, for he usually recovered in the span of a day or two. The days where he was ill and forced to stay in bed became more numerous. Now, there was rarely a day where the King felt strong enough to grab his sword or ride out. Even his mind seemed to grow duller. It was painful to watch. A king so great and honourable, who had in his prime often been compared to the kings of old, was suddenly not much more than a shadow of his former self. Éowyn and her had been doing all they could but it was all for nought. She had been trying every possible herb, every known cure, but the state of Théoden King remained unchanged. She had traveled around Rohan to ask every healer she met, but the result was always the same. Théodred has not yet given up hope, he believed his father would recover. Yet, Éowyn was growing restless and felt ever more the pressure of her duties as Lady of Rohan, weighing down on her and restricting her. Cenewyn had tried to help, she felt the pain of herclose friend, understood the feeling of being caged. But there was nothing left she could do, or at least that is what she believed -until Boromir, son of Denethor, arrived.

Elves, or at least the stories about them, were not unknown to her. Many a day and evening did she spend in Éothain‘s company, listening to tales of them. He knew many such tales. Freothgar, Éothain‘s father, was a minstrel and knew songs, stories and tales about countless a place and many a people. Imladris often appeared in those. A place of scholars renown, healers able to cure any illness. Cenewyn had often doubted its existence. How could a place so perfect and peaceful exist? It did not make any sense to her. Yet, Boromir insisted and believed it to lay somewhere, hidden from sight and forgotten by many. His dream was far too real, and he felt it to be true. He would not have left Gondor in such times otherwise. It was a compelling argument. It did not take long for her to make her decision. If Imladris existed, then a cure might be found in this elvish dwelling, which would return the strength to Théoden King. She had been preparing her departure for days, making sure that no one would be able to guess her intentions, not even Éothain- who somehow always managed to find her or guess her thoughts. When they were children and playing hide and seek it would always be him who found her in the end, no matter where she hid. Her mind was clear now, she knew what had to be done.

 

 

It was the night before Boromir’s departure. Cenewyn had left her parents a letter. She was sure that her mother would not notice it immediately, but would fulfil her usual tasks. By the time she would notice her absence, her mother would most likely search around and ask people about her, not thinking of returning to her bedchamber. She felt bad leaving like this, but she new that her father would never allow her to go, nor would most of her kin or friends. Her mother would not take her departure well, for that she was sorry. Still, she had no choice. It was the only way. Although, she feared that she wouldn’t be able to convince the captain of Gondor, once she would show herself, to allow her to accompany him. He was a very proud and rather hard man, difficult to convince or sway. Cenewyn wondered if people from Gondor were generally like this. Yet, she felt that Boromir, son of Denethor, was quite singular and thought that few men would have his courage or his heart. But she would not worry about this now, there were some days still until she planned to face him on this road. She would find a way to convince him, she had to.

She had now reached the southern edge of the little forest, that lay close to the Fords of the Isen. In the past few days, she had often ridden out to this place, slowly building a trap. It was in fact not much more than a long rope spanned between a few trees and the ground that she has loosened up by removing and carrying away the big stones. A little slope, full of pebbles and stones, lead to her trap. With the big stones removed, all she had to do was make sure that one of the two Rohirrim patrolling the Isen came close enough. She knew both riders well. Byrnstan and Godhere were eager to prove themselves, they were young and impulsive. Their steeds, especially Godhere‘s mare Wundenfeax, was prone to bolt. All it needed was the right timing.

She had bid her mare, Fealu, to wait for her in the glade of the forest that opened towards the Isen. It was not far from her hiding spot. Then, finally, after nearly two hours of waiting, she heard one rider coming, and guessed, by the tune he was humming, that it could only be Godhere. It seems that fate was on her side. Cenewyn felt rather giddy. Tricking Byrnstan would have proven to be a more difficult task. But Godhere would not. She slowly moved towards the trap and positioned herself close to it. Godhere was now just a few feet away. Then she took her horn, which had been a present of her Grandfather, and blew into it, albeit not too loud. All she needed was for Godhere to come closer to the slope. The moment she blew into the horn, the Rohirrim jerked his head towards the little forest, trying to make out the source of the sound. It seems that he was debating with himself, whether to come closer or not. Cenewyn was waiting nervously, why did he not move forward? Many a moment had already passed. If he turned around and continued his patrol, she might try to cross the Isen still, butthen she could not be sure of the two Rohirrim’s location or whether they would see her. It was of utmost importance that her presence remained unnoticed until she would reach Dunland, where she would show herself to Boromir. Otherwise somebody might find her and foil all her plans.Should she risk it and blow the horn a second time? Now that he was much closer to her hiding spot?She wasn’t sure. Godhere didn’t leave her much of a choice, for he was about to turn around and continue his patrol. So she blew a second time. The young Rohirrim, now convinced that there was somebody in the forest, approached on his mare and stood still just before the slope that was leading down into her trap. Cenewyn then took a pebble from the ground and threw it as hard as she could against Wundenfeax. The mare whined pitifully and scared as she was, slithered down the slope (for the ground was full of pebbles and little stones) directly into the trap. Wundenfeax did not even notice that she had been divested of her rider, whohimself had noticed the rope only when it cut into his upper body and shoulders and threw him off his horse. She simply galloped further into the forest. Godhere lay there on the ground cursing colourfully and swearing to withhold the carrots, for weeks at least, to teach his trice damned horse a lesson. Cenewyn snickered, it was far too amusing to see one of the proudest and self-assured young Rohirrim on the ground, trying to get up afterhaving fallen prey to such a simple trap and his own horse having deserted him. His huge pride must surely have taken a good beating. Ah, how satisfying it would be to spread the tale in Edoras. But alas, there was no more time left to admire her handiwork. She had to leave. Fortunately, Godhere followed his mare deeper into the forest, giving Cenewyn the chance to go further east, to where her own horse waited.

Soon she reached Fealu, sat up and rode carefully towards the shores of the Isen. Cenewyn made sure to watch the plains to her left, once she had left the glade and reached the Fords, but none of the two riders could be seen. A last time she glanced in the direction of Edoras, wondering if she really should leave. But all she needed to remember was the desperation of Éowyn, the tension in prince Théodred and the Third Marshall, or their men, who were doing their best to keep these lands safe, even if it proved to be a more difficult task by the hour. She had no choice, this was the only way she could be of help. Rohan needed its king. Silently, she bade her home goodbye and crossed the Isen.


	4. A Captain that cannot be fooled (by natural means)

It was a strangely beautiful day. No clouds were gracing the light blue sky and the sun was trying to outdo itself. Cenewyn thought she would be much more nervous. But it seems that her feelings fit the weather. She was rather giddy with happiness. A sense of adventure had taken over and the doubts about leaving her home in this fashion were but dust particles dancing in the sun rays. So far nothing had hindered her path. She had reached the Isen without being noticed. The Isen was shallow at this place. There were a few little islands that the Isen didn't swallow but simply flowed around. Naturally, because of the aforementioned characteristics, it was the most used passage across the big stream. One of the islands, further downstream had a lot of vegetation and some trees. Cenewyn had long planed to hide there and wait for Boromir to pass. She should also be far from the Wizard's sight. Saruman the White was a friend of Rohan. Yet, Cenewyn could not help but feel a slight aversion towards this wizard. The people who knew him only spoke of him in the highest of words. The young scholar wondered whether these lofty words had not been a product of some magic trick. After all, how can you defend against such an otherworldly weapon? Friend or not, she could simply not trust any wizard. 

In any case, as long as she tried to avoid open terrain in these lands there was little to fear. Besides, she should appear like any Rohirrim warrior from afar. Cenewyn was graced with the height of her ancestors and the strong body of her father. While this made her appear less appealing to many a young man, and had bothered her in the past, now it was a blessing. Few would think her a woman on first glance. Still, it would be the best to face the Gondorian Captain just after sundown.Cenewyn didn't want to take any chances. This way she may even be able to fool him - if only until the sun rises again.

Nightfall was not far away, so she decided to look for a suitable place to hide and spend the night. While it would have been possible to hide somewhere on Dunlending lands the young historian wasn't comfortable with the thought. Here she still knew the terrain, knew what to expect. Once she crossed the stream she would have been like a newborn foal - struggling to find the right path.

Cenewyn had been trying to fall asleep for some time, but her mind didn't allow her much rest. What if she misses Boromir? What would she do then? There should still be some tracks left by his horse, unless it rains of course. He could also travel a lot slower than she anticipated him to. Or maybe be invited to an other Lords homestead on the way. He was, after all, a famous Captain from Gondor. Stories about his feats had even reached the Halls of Medusled many years before he finally set his foot in it. Could she then wait here? The chances for her being found would grow with each day she spent on the same spot. And what if one of those abominations of orcs managed to hurt or even worse kill the son of Denethor? No, no this was unlikely. Too many has Boromir slain, too often been victorious. He would not die so easily. But traveling alone was dangerous, even for such a mighty warrior of men…

Suddenly, Cenewyn heard somebody approaching. She cursed herself for being this engulfed in her own worries and not paying attention to her surroundings. Whoever was coming towards her was big and heavy but slowly and surely walking in her direction, as if he, or it, was looking for something specific. The young scholar was thinking about moving further southwest, but the Isen was not far away. A swim in the night wasn‘t something she was keen on. There was also the issue of leaving her horse. It would make this journey to wherever the famous Elvish dwelling was supposed be a lot more difficult without a stead. And she doubted she could find an other horse this soon across the Isen – unless she went to that wizard and asked for help. But she‘d sooner delve further into Dunlending lands and try her luck there before asking a wizard for help. She had no choice but to hope that whoever was coming didn‘t find her. Cenewyn tried to cease all movement, stilled her breath and prayed for this to be over as soon as possible. But alas, the stranger was coming ever closer and she remembered the words of her father: „It is better to face a stranger with a strong argument than without anything at all.“ So she pulled her sword with a practiced move from her scabbard and waited anciously. She saw the stranger from a few feet away, with steel, that relected the light of the moon, in his right hand. He had not yet noticed her but seemed to look very concentrated on the ground, sometimes even crouching down. Was he tracking her? Cenewyn had been very careful, there should not have been many tracks left be her or her stead...or at least she thought she had been careful enough.

The next few moments were but a blurry. The stranger suddenly leaped at her and if she had not managed to evade that strike of steel he would have cleaved her in half. Cenewyn tried to attack as well, but the stranger was a formidable swordsman and far stronger than she. Hama‘s daughter barely managed to graze his side before receiving a blow to the stomach and falling to the ground. She grunted and rolled to the side. Hoping that she would not be killed in the meantime. Yet, when she rose to her feet again the stranger had stopped moving and chose to speak to her instead:

„I advise you to drop the blade. You have no chance of besting me.“ Cenewyn was far too stunned to do what she had been told and just stared at her opponent. „Have you not heard me boy? Drop the blade.“ There he stood, proud and tall, Boromir, son of Denethor; demanding that she drop her sword. What else was she to do but to comply? She did value her life after all. The Gondorian captain was visibly satisfied and sheathed his sword as well. He probably did not think her a danger at all.

„Now tell me, why is a young man like you hiding on the Isen?“ The young historian dared not to answer. She feared that once she opened her mouth her disguise would be for naught. Should she try to deepen her voice? Let him believe her a boy?

„Speak now!“ Still she did not comply. Boromir then, angered by her behavior, stepped closer. She could see him now, the clouds that had been hiding the moon had moved away completely. It was a full moon and there was ample light now illuminating their surroundings. Boromir‘s brows rose immediately before coming down into a deep frown. Cenewyn tried to move away instantly, for she realized what this meant. But it was too late. The Gondorian captain grabbed her by her arm and pulled her back forcefully. He was visibly displeased and glared at her.

„You should not be here, Cenewyn, daugther of Háma.“ He said, barely concealing the anger in his voice. „And yet here I am, Boromir, son of Denethor.“ The young scholar answered with a small voice, cursing her tongue. It was foolish to antagonize the captain if she hoped to accompany him to Imladris.

Cenewyn struggled to shake off his hold on her, but his grip was like steel, unrelenting. It seems that this was only agitating him further. Yet, she did not want to be treated in this way – even if she understood that her presence here could be thought suspicious.

„I demand that you release me. You have no right to treat me this way.“ The young scholar argued. Boromir, realizing that he had been too forcefull, lessened his grip.

„I will, once you explain why you are here, disguised as a young warrior.“ - the Gondorian captain demanded, emphasizing the last part of his inquiry.

„My reasons are my own. I can only tell you that I have no evil in mind.“ Cenewyn finally said. „And you think me fool enough to accept such an answer?“ He countered.

„Yes.“ She answered, not allowing her fear to take over. Boromir sighed and let her go. „I should have known then that you would not hold to your word. This journey is dangerous and I will not allow it. Tomorrow, by the first light, I will take yo back to Edoras.“

Cenewyn was highly displeased to hear these words. It was exactly what she had hoped to avoid. All her plans were now in disarray. She would not allow this. No, she could not allow this. „I will not be taken back. It is of utmost importance that I reach Imladris. And you will not hinder me.“ - she said, her tone becoming rather menacing.

Boromis was visibly taken aback by her rebutall. He obviously had not expected such a reaction. Yet, his surprise lasted but a moment and anger took over again. „You fool of a woman! You barely managed to defend yourself against me. How do you think to survive this endeavour? Do you think yourself brave for having left Rohan for such an adventure? Have you not thought of your family? The dread they must be feeling by now?“ - the Gondorian captain shouted at her.

„Have you not done the same? Can you fault me for wishing to protect my home? For risking my life in order to do what has to be done? I am a woman. I may be weaker and a fool. But I did not leave the Halls of Medusled to quench my thirst for adventure. Nor did I take the sword to search for glory, Boromir, son of Denethor.“ Cenewyn answered calmly, cold as ice. Her tone surprised not only the captain, but herself. She did not know how she managed to answer in such a manner, for inside she was seething from the Gondorian‘s insults.

It took Boromir but a few moments to recollect himself and he then said „Very well. Yet, I do not see how one woman alone can save Rohan, nor do I understand why you have to find Imladris to accomplish this.“

Cenewyn sighed at this. She did not want to disclose more about Rohan‘s ails then necessary. „Understand, Boromir, son of Denethor, that I would not be here if I were not desperate. What the purpose of my accompanying you is, I do not wish to tell. The fewer know about it the better it is for the future of Rohan and Gondor.“ , „What do you mean to say with this?“ he asked. Her words have obviously picked his interest.

„Mordor is looming ever closer, have you not said so but a few nights ago? Sooner or later Gondor will call for Rohan. But what if Rohan‘s might is diminished? What if Rohan is not able to answer the call?“ Cenewyn implored. Boromir paled at her words and looked rather stricken. „I hope it shall never come to that...“- he nearly whispered, as if he dreaded to even think of this possibility. Cenewyn nodded, looking rather sternly ahead, towards the other side of the stream.

„It is of utmost importance that I reach Imladris. Whether it is at your side or on my own matters not.“ She declared, never being more convinced than at that moment, of having done the right thing by leaving Edoras.


	5. A dream

 

The fire was burning, red and and all-consuming. Wherever she turned, wherever she looked,  the red tongues w ere everywhere. There was silence – just  like  the eery void before a storm. It was wrong. Even in the deepest night guards would do their duty  and keep watch . W h ere were they all?  Why had nobody sounded alarm? A fire of this magnitude would have been noticed already. Cenewyn rushed through the rooms, searching for everybody – her father, her mother, Éowyn. The fire was growing, eating the wooden beams. It would not take long for the structure to collaps. Then she halted, dread spreading through her body. How was this possible? Was this some magic trick? She moved her right hand towards the fire. The flames were hungrily licking her fingers, yet she felt no heat, no pain. Nothing at all. This should not be. Was she dead? Suddenly, the beam on the far end of the corridor gave in, and the roof was starting to collaps inwards. Cenewyn fled from the west wing and entered the main hall. There was fire everywhere and she was not alone. The sight in front of her chilled her to the bones. The guards, the servants they were all sitting at the tables, burning. They did not move but just sat there – as if they were statues. This had to be faul magic. Everything else did not make sense. Cenewyn tried to somehow rouse them, but they remained unmoving. She looked ahead, towards the throne and saw her family there, sitting on the steps. Éowyn and Éomer stood to the left and right of their uncle, who sat hunched on his throne. She did not hesitate and ran as fast as her legs could take her to them. The flames had not reached them yet. It was as if they had been petrified, forced to endure all of this in such a helpless state. She saw the desperation in their eyes that mirrored her own. Their eyes pleaded with her, to do something, give them mercy. Yet, nothing she did could change their state. Never has Cenewyn felt such anguish. She tried and tried to do something, but it was for naught. Then they were engulfed by the flames. Still Cenewyn did not feel the lick of the flames, but the pain she saw in the eyes of the people dear to her burned hotter than any fire ever could. Finally, the wooden pillars gave in and the roof was collapsing. Then there was darkness.

Cenewyn awoke in the woods, not far from where she had put up that trap. Had she fallen asleep here? And everything else had been a dream? The burning Golden Halls? Being cornered by the captain of Gondor? If that was the case she wasn‘t sure whether to feel worry or relief. If everything had been but a dream, her king and friends were yet alive and well. But it also meant that she must have wasted precious time. It was a wonder that she had not been found yet, if that was truly the case. So Cenewyn went to look for her horse Fealu. She had reached the glade but her faithful companion was nowhere to be found. So she walked towards the Isen, calling for her. The result was the same. Suddenly. Cenewyn noticed the smell of burning wood. Ash was blown in her direction and she realized with a start that her dream might have been true after all. So she rushed out of the woods, hoping that it was but a small fire and that maybe Rohirrim were burning down a band of orcs. Yet what she saw was tall red flames swallowing the green lands of Rohan and its inhabitants. There lay, not far from here, the mutilated corpses of men she knew, Rohirrim that she respected and looked up to. The cold bodies of Brynstan and Godhere, the young riders she had planned to trick, lay there as well. They were staring at her, with their empty eyes. The earth was burning all around them and Cenewyn just collapsed to the ground. Her strength had left her entirely. It would not take long, and the flames would swallow her too. Tears running down her pale cheeks, she awaited her fate and whispered at last „I have failed you all. Please forgive me.“

She gasped and instantly shot awake. A fear so strong took her heart prisoner, that she did not dare to open her eyes. She did not wish to see what was in front of her. Yet, it was not right to keep ones eyes closed from reality. So she took a deep calming breath, tried to slow down the fearful beating of her heart, and finally opened her eyes.

„A bad dream, my lady?“ Boromir‘s deep voice penetrated the night. He sat not far from her, partially leaning on his sword, watching her with a slight frown.

„Yes, a very unpleasant dream.“ Cenewyn replied, her voice not yet carrying the strength it usually does. The Captain of Gondor simply nodded at that, respecting her need to recollect herself.

„Dawn is not far and it would do well to rest. I can take the watch for what remains of the night, son of Denethor.“

Boromir nodded again, for he was a man of few words. „ I have been in thought for these past few hours. Your previous words, about the state of your king, have caused me to do so. Yet I still wonder, why a young woman would be the one to attempt such a task. Rohan does not lack warriors, nor healers or scholars – even if the last two are of lesser renown.“

„True that may be, my lord, but few have my expertise.“

„Your expertise lies in history of these lands, not the arts of healing. Yet Imladris is the subject of myths and legends and a bard‘s area of expertise. It seems to me that second in command of Lord Éomer‘s Éored would have been far better tasked with such an endeavor.“

  


„My lord, I believe you have heard the tales of Orcs and Dunlendings pillaging our lands in ever more frequent raids. No healer, no warrior, no lord Rohan can spare. Especially not one so mighty as Éothain.“ Cenewyn explained, defiance dancing in her eyes. The Captain of Gondor held her gaze for a few breaths, before sighing audibly.

„You are dear to many people in the Golden Halls, have you not thought about this? Surely they will send people to look for you.“

„Yes, they may. But I rather doubt that Rohirrim will cross far into these lands in search for me – especially since they know that I intended to travel with you my Lord.“

„So you left a message, explaining your plans?

„That I did. I have known these men for most of my life. Rohan is more important than my well-being. They will not abandon their duty to search but for one woman in foreign lands.“

„I have to admit that your cunning impresses me. There is reason in your actions, yet I cannot but feel that it was a foolish decision. Nevertheless, I will allow you to accompany me. Your knowledge of these lands may indeed raise the chances of finding Imladris. Still, I have to ask of you to follow my every command. Otherwise this journey will end in peril.“ Boromir implored.

„That I will do. You have my deepest thanks, son of Denethor.“

Cenewyn then took over the watch for the remainder of the night, will Boromir rested. In a few hours, they would go further West and the Isen would leave their seight. Cenewyn hoped that her dreams never became reality, otherwise she would not be able to forgive herself for going on this journey. They had to find Imladris as soon as possible, there was no time to spare.

  



	6. Duty

They sat in the Meadhall of Aldburg, the home of Éomer, in the Folde. This part of Rohan lay in its center, south-east of where the Snowbourn and the Entwash met. Aldburg was one of the oldest towns and the ancestral seat of the royal family. Built by Eorl the Young, it served as capital until his son Brego had completed the Golden Hall in Edoras. Aldburg was then given to Eofor, Eorl‘s third son. Many years later, Éomund, Éomer‘s father and descendant of Eofor, would take on the duties of Third Marshal of the Riddermark and serve his king until his untimely death in 3002.

It had now been more than a week since the Captain of Gondor had left on his journey and Cenewyn‘s absence had been noticed. After the search for Cenewyn had not born any fruits and news the White Wizard had reached Medusled, Éothain returned to Aldburg to rule in the Marshal‘s stead- as was often the case. Éomer‘s duties usually required his presence in Edoras, from whence he would return only periodically. It was but this morning that the Third Marshal finally joined his Second in Command in the old capital. They had spent most of the day exchanging news and discussing plans for the following months. The summer would soon reach its end, which meant that they would need to increase the patrols. In the last few years, orc bands have increasingly begun to raid farms during harvest. Last year, they had been very successfull in keeping those raids at bay. Yet, Éomer was worried that this year it would not be such an easy task. The frequency of the raids had increased eventhough there was little to harvest yet. And it was not only the Eastmark that suffered these attacks, but also the West-mark. Especially the Wold, Rohan‘s nothern most border march, and the East Wall, lands further south along the Anduin, had received the brunt of it.

The increase of the raids was particularly worrisome. Éomer and Éothain feared that the Orcs were growing too fast in numbers. If it continued at this rate an attack by an Orc army was a very likely scenario. They had to make sure to train the men, keep enough grain stored and enforce many of the farms. What they lacked most were men. Apart from the Folde, many of the lands of the East-mark have suffered a population drop in the last ten years. Yet, Théoden King had no ear for his nephew‘s worries and had so far denied any request for more men in the East-mark. This was of course in no small amount due to Wormtongue‘s particular skills, or at least that is what the two men were convinced off.

The day had been long and they were about to have dinner when Elfhelm, the Thane of Faldham in the Eastemnet requested an audience. Elfhelm was one of Rohan‘s ablest warriors. His deeds were known throughout the Kingdom.

„Welcome Elfhelm. It has been many weeks since we last had the chance to exchange news. Please, join us.“

„Thank you my Lord, that it is. I would prefer to speak first and eat later, if it is acceptable.“

Elfhelm must have ridden all the way from Faldham without taking a break, for his breath came in heaps and he seemed like a man haunted, so pale was his face. Both Éomer and Éothain nodded at the Thane‘s request. Whatever it was that forced the man to ride at this speed, good news certainly it was not.

„Please excuse my urgency, but I was not sure whether you would be here tomorrow and it is of utmost importance that I speak to you here than somwhere else.“

„There is no need to excuse yourself Elfhelm, I know you to be a man of principle. Were it not important, you would not be here. So please, speak your news.“

„Thank you my lord. There are two matters I wish to inform you about. The first, albeit worrisome, may pale in its implications when compared to the second. Éothain has, without doubt, relayed the news of the ever more frequent raids in this part of Rohan. The Eastemnet has suffered as well, some of our farms have been razed to the ground. The other Thanes and I are worried about the coming winter. We fear that there may not be anough grain this year. If feasible, we would ask for some of the proviant and grain from the Folde – once it is clear how much this harvest brings.“

The Third Marshal and his Second in Command nodded at this. „This is a very sensible request. The storages of the Folde are full, for the last harvest was a very good one. Let your men and the other Thanes know that they are welcome to transfer as much grain as they need.“

Elfhelm was visibly relieved to hear this answer. Yet, Éothain noticed that the Thane of Faldham still seemed very nervous and had not yet lost the paleness. „And what would be the second matter you need to inform us about? From what you told us, it is the graver one.“ The Second in Command remarqued. Elfhelm seemed rather uncomfortable, as if he would have prefered to not speak about it at all. After a few moments he finally decided to share his thoughts.

„I have received word from Edoras. The King requests that I take on the position of Commander of the Garrison at Edoras. My oldest son Elfmar is to become Thane of Faldham in my instead.“

Both Éomer and Éothain paled at these words. The implications of this were far too severe.

„I was still at Edoras until this morning. There was no word spoken about a new Commander of the Garrison. When did you receive the news Elfhelm?“

„Just this afternoon. I set for Aldburg as soon as I had received the entirety of it.“

„So the messenger must have been sent as soon as you left Edoras, Éomer. This was done, without doubt, in order to keep you in the dark.“

Éomer only nodded at Éothain‘s conclusion, deep furrows marring his forehead.

„I trust my son, he is a good man and a promising warrior but….“ Elfhelm began to explain, before being interjected by the Third Marshal. „Your son is young and yet inexperienced and not used to more than simple bouts. The entire East-mark needs able and experienced Thanes and warriors. Your worry is entirely justified and I fear that the decision to name you Commander of the Garrison, although entirely deserved were it but other times, is a most foolish one.“

„Thank you my Lord. I am glad that you share my view on this matter. Still, I doubt that I can simply deny the request. The way it was phrased left no room for negotiation.“

„You are right again, Elfhelm. With the way it has been in recent times, there is little chance to sway the king in his decisions – especially if Gríma Wormtonuge is close to the ear of Théoden King. Only the prince is able to convince the king, and even then not always. It seems that I will need to leave for Edoras on the morrow and talk to Théodred. But please, sit down and join us for dinner now.“

The took their dinner together but remained silent through most of it. Elfhelm had visibly improved once he had shared all his thoughts. Still, these news were worrisome and no stories and tales Éothain began to tell could improve the mood. Night has fallen and they were enjoying mead in front of the fire now. Their companionship stayed but a silent one until the Thane of Faldham spoke again.

„My lords, please excuse my straighforwardness but we have heard all kinds of tales about Lady Cenewyn‘s departure. I have met her but twice, and I refuse to believe the content of most of them. The lady always seemed like a very honorable and responsible woman to me.“

Éothain‘s facial expression darkened instantly. Éomer was not pleased to hear this either. „What kind of tales have reached the Eastemnet?“ He asked.

„Some say that Lady Cenewyn was so enruptured by the son of Denethor, that she could not be parted from him and followed him. Others say that she finally could not stand staying in Edoras or Rohan any longer and left for the adventure she always desired to have.“ The Thane of Faldham said, sounding very unsure.

„What else have they said?“ Éothain demanded to know, his facial expression growing only stormier.

„My Lord, I do not...“ , „What else is said about her Elfhelm?“ The Second in Command‘s tone was menacing, his voice as hard as steel. Elfhelm was visibly intimidated by this.

„It is said that her infatuation overstepped all boundaries, that she intended to pursue all her desires freely, without having to mind the eyes of all present or think about decency. They explain that she has always thought herself something special, worthy of attention and exceptions. The rules that would apply to everybody else were but an amusement to her. And now that she met the very tall, strong and famous Captain of Gondor nothing else would prove enough for her...“ The Thane finally explained, nearly whispering the last part.

Éothain was shaking of anger. „How dare they make up such lies about her! I will not allow her reputation to be slandered like this. I...“ , „Éothain...“ Éomer had put a hand on his friend‘s shoulder, trying to calm him down. But his Second in Command slapped his hand away and stormed outside.

The Marshal sighed heavily and turned towards Elfhelm „These rumors are vicious and unfounded. Cenewyn left Rohan for the same reasons you came to Aldburg today. She is not somebody to follow her desires so freely as these rumors portray her to be. And I believe that you are very well aware of that, are you not?“

The Thane of Faldham nodded at that. Still, Éomer worried about his friend. Éothain had been in low spirits since the day Cenewyn left. He was easily angered too. How long would it be like this? Éomer had no answer. Where Boromir and Cenewyn were headed to was but a place from old tales. Yet the dangers were plenty, lurking in every dark corner of the unknown lands to the east and north. How would they fare? Would they be successful? Would Cenewyn find a cure for whatever plagued their king? Éomer had so far been reluctant to put too much hope on Cenewyn‘s self-assigned task. Yet, he grew more worried about the state of Rohan each day and the news from Elfhelm did nothing but amplify them.


	7. Into the wild

Yesterday by first light, Boromir was the first to cross the Isen and Cenewyn had followed in distance. She knew from the last few months that at times Dunlendings would come and scout the Gap of Rohan, sometimes even try to cross the great stream as well. The two companions had discussed what to do for quite some time, until they agreed that it would be best for Cenewyn to pretend to be a Rohirrim but a while longer and follow her actual plan. He would make sure to plant a trail that would fit it. Although it was not entirely unusual for Rohiric patrols to watch both banks of the Isen, it would certainly be out of the oridnary for a Rohirrim warrior to be seen riding even further than the black tower of the wizard. Only Gríma and a few selected riders ever passed into the lands of Saruman the White and acted as messengers. Boromir and Cenewyn came to the agreement that she would change into her own clothes as soon as they passed Isengard. It would be safer for her to pose as his wife in the lands of the Dunlendings. A Rohirrim warrior would without doubt attract not only too much attention but danger as well. After all, there was little love between the people of Rohan and that of Dunland.

Yet, for a while, Boromir had entertained the idea to ask the White Wizard for his opinion on the dreams both he and his brother had seen. Cenewyn was adamant about not visiting the wizard a few hours before that, putting forward every possible argument she could think off.

When they finally reached the abode of the White Wizard the captain stopped, albeit for a short while, to gaze upon the black tower – maybe yet considering, whether to see the wizard and forego his word, or to go on. Then, a heavy dread came upon them. It was as if a thick fog had suddenly enveloped them and hindered their every breath. Their animals were nervous as well, making the Captain of Gondor realize that something was amiss and the White Wizard may possibly be somebody they should not meet. The young scholar remembered tales of ample woods and vibrant gardens that surrounded the tower of Orthanc. Yet, it seemed as if they were slowly dying. A fould wind was coming from what was once one of the seven towers of the Dúnedain. Cenewyn was relieved to see that Boromir did not linger longer then, and she followed him in a safe distance, muttering something about wizards and faul magic, just as they had agreed upon.

It had started to rain and the pair was forced to find a drier place. It would be dusk soon. A shallow cave soon appeared to their right, and upon first inspection seemed to present them the best camp for the night. There was not much choice, for the trees were still sparse in this area and did not offer much respite from the pouring rain. Both, Boromir and Cenewyn, wished to avoid having to sleep in such conditions outside. They did not know what would await once they forrayed deeper into the lands of the Dunlendings. The captain of Gondor had been a silent companion for now, rarely exchanging words with her. Naturally, there was little chance to do so while they still followed her plan. Yet, even after she had changed into her own clothing and started to ride alongside her companion, Boromir rarely spoke more than a few sentences. He seemed to be consumed by thought and she did not know what to do. Cenewyn, was by nature, somebody who enjoyed to converse.

So they sat around the fire Cenewyn had lit, in amicable silence, when, finally, the son of Denethor regarded her in the warm light of the fire and said: „You are aware that some will question not only your integrity and reputation, but mine as well? It is unseemly for us both, unwed we are, to travel alone through these lands, in pursuit of something that many people will claim to be nothing more than folktales. Were it not for the dreams of my brother and me, I would agree with them.“

Cenewyn stared into the fire, nodding at the words of her companion. „I expect nothing less. These kind of words will undoubtedly spread.“ The young scholar said calmly.

„And you do not worry for your reputation?“ Boromir asked, brows pulled together. „What use is my reputation to me when everything else may be lost?“ Cenewyn argued. „I understand that I have forced you into this situation, but you do not have to worry about what people will say about me. For years now some have badmouthed me. Rohirrim may not tell lies, but that doesn‘t mean that they are very precise with the truth – at least in some cases.“

„You speak of the advisor, Wormtongue? I have noticed the anger you have towards him, you do not mask it well.“

Cenewyn nodded again, before continuing „Rohan is not Gondor, my Lord. There is no use in pretending to like somebody when you do not. Even treating him with the respect his position deserves is sometimes too much a task, for he certainly does not deserve it. Wormtongue‘s words have, since his arrival some years ago, only sown mistrust and confusion. I do not like seeing him whisper in the ear of my king. Much less do I like him for putting forward unwanted advances on the Lady of Rohan. You may, my Lord, understand my anger. I believe you would not feel different, if it were you in my position.“

Boromir sighed at that. „No, I would not. And you are right, Gondor is not Rohan. You are a rough and yet a noble people. It is a strange combination that should contradict itself, but it does not. I do not understand politics of the court, nor do I wish to do so. But it seems to me that your anger towards the advisor is justified.“

There was silence for a few moments, before Cenewyn spoke again „You have asked about my reputation, so allow me to ask about yours. Do you not worry about what will be said? Surely there must be a lady waiting for you in the White City. I doubt that news about our companionship will be palatable to her.“

The son of Denethor chuckled at that and answered: „My place has always been between soldiers, at the front. There was little time for more romantic endeavours. If my father had pressed upon me the necessity to wed, I may have considered it. But the threat of Mordor has loomed over the White City for many years now, forcing us to be ever vigilant. Maybe I will wed one day, if the threat is gone or at least less than it is now. Yet I fear, that this will not happen in my lifetime.“

Boromir became silent at this, and the atmosphere grew heavy. Cenwyn was aware that Gondor had to suffer repeated attacks and heavy setbacks on their borders. It certainly must have been difficult for Boromir to be so far away from his men and his home. Much more difficult than it was for Cenewyn. She has never seen men die next to her, striken down by orcish weapons. Nor has she ever fought for her life. Certainly, everybody in Rohan felt that something was amiss. Orc raids have been increasing in the past few years. Yet, compared to the captain of Gondor, her experience must have mounted to a fracture of his. She did not wish to pry, but she did not like seeing him this way either and thought of a way to change the mood.

„You have a younger brother, yes? What is he like?“ Cenewyn inquired, hoping to steer the captain away from sad thoughts.

„Faramir, yes. If we did not look like brothers, you would not think us related. He is rather different from me. My brother is a good man, a good ranger.“ Boromir‘s eyes where shining at this and a warm smile was gracing his face. „Yet, where I am skilled with the sword, he is skilled with the word. His skills are put to much better use at court. I do not have this talent, I grow uncomfortable when faced with court officials and politicians. It is not my world. You may have noticed that I am rather scarce with words.“

Cenewyn laughed heartily at that. „I did, yet you speak with me, not showing any troube finding the words you need.“

„Lady Cenewyn, you remind me of my brother, even if your skills lie somwhere different. Still, I believe you both could hold a very long discussion on history. I know tales of war, lore of battle. It is something we soldiers like sharing over such a fire like this. Yet I know little else. My brother has nearly devoured all books and scrolls in Minas Tirith and I believe you would have done the same in his place.“ The love the captain of Gondor had for his sibling was palpable and it warmed Cenewyn‘s heart. Seeing him like this made her realize that his stoic appearance did not fit him well.

„It sounds that Lord Faramir and I would make good friends, at least if your account is to be believed.“ Cenewyn said, cheekily, making Boromir chuckle.

„Oh yes, I believe we would have trouble pulling your noses out of the books in the libraries of the White City.“ Cenewyn gained a dreamy look at this, which the Captain noticed instantly „Yes, there is more than just one library. So, Lady Cenewyn, daughter of Háma, if you ever decide to come to Gondor, I will have to introduce you to my brother. Maybe you will manage to steal him from his books.“

They both laughed at this and decided to rest. They would, after all, need to rise early and continue on their path tomorrow.


End file.
